Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) by Sharlene MacLaren Read Free Book Online Page A

I best not say his name, but he’s a professional about town—a fine Christian man who’s never married. He would probably do quite well. And then, there is Mr.—oh! Again, I mustn’t let the name slip. Let’s just say he’s a widower who lives outside of town. I doubt you know him. Let’s see….” She scratched her temple, feigning deep thought. “Oh, yes! Another man I don’t know, whose sister wrote to tell him of my plight, will be arriving on the afternoon train tomorrow to meet me.”
    Mrs. Whintley’s jaw dropped. “Gracious me! Really?”
    Mercy nodded. What she’d said was true enough, except for the part about them being “good prospects.” Perhaps Harold Beauchamp, the forty-something postmaster, who would remain nameless to Wilma Whintley, came the closest in terms of decent possibilities, but only because he understood her immediate need, had always treated her with utmost respect, and hadn’t seemed to object when she’d explained the rule of separate bedrooms. If anything, he’d blushed profusely at the mention of it. Best, he professed to know the Lord, which, of course, rated of utmost importance. Unfortunately, the poor fellow had a pudgy belly, thinning hairline, and crooked teeth that hampered his smile—which also hampered her spirits.
    Of course, she had yet to meet Caroline Hammerstrom’s brother. He could be her perfect match, for all she knew. After all, she’d been praying unceasingly ever since paying Judge Corbett a visit and learning she must find a husband. Surely, God would answer her prayer, sooner than later.
    A horse whinnied, and a deep-throated “Whoa” turned both women’s heads. Sam Connors, riding high and straight and looking fully recovered from his brush with death, pulled back on the reins of his shining black steed, bringing it to a halt at the side of the road. He gave the women a cursory nod and lifted his hat an inch from his curly head before replacing it, but the boys received his full attention. At first sight of him, they both dropped their sticks and ran to meet him.
    Mrs. Whintley bumped against Mercy and murmured under her breath, “My mother’s milk cow, Miss Evans. Now, there’s a man for you. It’s a cryin’ shame your families don’t get along.”
    A shame indeed , Mercy thought. But, the family feud aside, she couldn’t marry the man whose father had murdered her pa. No sir, never in a million years. Not even if God wrote the command in the sand with a stick.

5
    S am looped the reins over Tucker’s saddle horn. The worn leather of the stirrups creaked as he raised himself up, swung one big leg over the horse’s rear, and jumped down, making the dust fly. He brushed off his pants and smiled down at the boys, patting them both on their sandy heads and taking care not to gawk at Mercy Evans, who looked mighty pretty today in her pale blue skirt and fitted floral blouse with low, rounded neckline and shiny buttons climbing up her front. She had her black-as-midnight hair pulled back in a loose bun, as usual, the strings of the ribbon woven around it and tied in a bow dangling to her neckline, and a few homespun curls framing her face. She was a scrumptious sight, if he did say so—but, again, quite untouchable.
    “You never came to see us,” said the older of the two boys—Joseph, if he recalled correctly. He had just a wisp of a grin on his face, making Sam wonder what, if anything, would make him smile these days. Sam would just about give away his left arm to finagle a giggle out of either one of them.
    “No, I don’t guess I did. I’ve gone back to work, so I’ve been pretty busy. That don’t mean I haven’t thought plenty about you, though. You doin’ okay?”
    Neither boy responded; they merely lifted their slim little shoulders in a slight shrug. The gesture tugged at his heart, and he turned his eyes on Miss Evans—the “husband hunter,” as he’d been mentally referring to her—and the older woman standing beside